


It's All in the Cards-Queen of Pentacles reversed/ 6 of Wands/ Queen of Wands

by mphelmsman



Series: It's all in the Cards [10]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awesome Janine, Hospitalization, Janine Knows, John is on a ventilator, M/M, Mary is Not Nice, Sherlock is a Mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:05:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4457687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mphelmsman/pseuds/mphelmsman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mary is smug the day after the shooting but Janine knows the score.</p><p>Across town Harry Watson talks with Greg Lestrade as they watch over her brother and his lover. She takes actions she hopes will keep Sherlock sane until John wakes up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how British hospitals work so I apologize beforehand for any inaccuracies.
> 
> The second chapter will be the what Sherlock writes. I'm not going to pull cards for that so I'm sticking it in as a second chapter.

_** Queen of Pentacles Reversed ** _

 

_** As a court card this speaks of a person rather than a situation. A Queen usually represents a mature woman or one who is experienced the the realm the suit represented. Pentacles or Coins as they are sometimes called represent the realm of action and physicality. Upright, the Queen of Pentacles is often a woman who is the 'Earth Mother' type. She glories in her femaleness and can be very giving to her family, friends and really anyone who comes in contact with her. Reversed this speaks of a woman who uses her femininity and it's perceived helplessness to attain physical ends that are purely her own. She is quite simply the woman who will take any action, moral or not, to attain what she desires. She can often hide behind a warm exterior but underneath she tends to see everyone as a means to her own ends. ** _

 

_** 6 of Wands ** _

 

_** This card is one of small triumphs. Unlike the Chariot of the Major Arcana; this card speaks more of completing a task successfully or even just having a day where everything seems to work out smoothly. As a card in the Wands suit it pertains mostly to communication but this card can speak of much more as triumphs in the physical world often come about through communicating effectively. This card reminds us to savor the small triumphs as well as the more life changing ones if only because the small triumphs happen much more often. Savor the good days because you can never quite know what the next day will bring. ** _

 

_** Queen of Wands ** _

 

_**As a court card this speaks more of a person than a situation. The Queen of Wands denotes a mature woman or one who is experienced in the suit that Wands govern; that of communication. The Queen of Wands is often a passionate person but in the upright position it speaks the most of a woman whose passions can carry others along with her on a wave of enthusiasm. She is as much the person who will spark a new idea in someone as she is the person who fans that spark into a flame. Traditionally the Queen court cards speak of various forms of fertility and the Queen of Wands is the card of fertility in spirit and ideas. She can give off ideas as naturally as a flame burns dry wood and will often give them away uncaring if it is someone else who gets the credit. Her pleasure is seeing those ideas come to fruition successfully. She often doesn't even care if she is remembered as the spark, as long as the flame burns with a glorious light.** _

 

Angela tapped her nail on the second page article that spoke of the shooting of Dr. John Watson with a great deal of satisfaction. She had been tempted to aim for a head or heart shot but she knew that would bring the full wrath of the Holmes down on her head within minutes. This she could excuse as trying to maintain her cover. Janine had been in the room when Moran had told her to remind the detective and his blogger that they were still vulnerable, more vulnerable as a couple now. The pain on Sherlock Holmes' face had been like a balm to her battered pride. She may not have been able to keep John but it would be a fine thing to make sure no one else had him either.

 

Waiting until their backs were turned as well was simply poetic justice. If she was lucky the bullet would cause a spinal injury although in her professional opinion it more likely hit the lung. In the end it didn't even matter. She'd immobilized the detective for now and it gave her more time; time to see if Moran could come up with a plan she could take advantage of to get out from under Violet Holmes thumb. At the very least she might be able to find a way to conceal her actions from Janine Hawkins. She would have thought that Moriarty's sister would have a grudge against the man who had killed her brother but that didn't seem to be the case. Angela thought about how she could use that to her advantage but nothing came immediately to mind so she savored the taste of one triumph for now and put the rest away until an opportunity presented itself. If one had patience it usually did.

 

So Angela got up from the table in the small flat she was sharing with the raven haired woman and gathered up some bread ingredients. She often baked when she was thinking her way through a problem. The undemanding routine of proofing the yeast, carefully mixing in in the rest, and especially kneading the dough helped her mind fall into a calm state from which her thoughts could flow unhindered. And it created such a nonthreatening picture for others; she had often used this to conceal her inner self under various covers. In those months before the wedding she did just this to reinforce the mild, care-giving persona of Mary Morstan. John never noticed a thing and it had even put doubts into the mind of Sherlock Holmes she was sure. Mostly sure anyway.

 

Drawing a version of that mindset over herself, she smiled shyly at Janine who walked in when she almost had the dough ready for its first rise. The woman's eyes searched her but she concentrated her whole self on buttering the bowl, settling the dough into it and putting it in a corner next to the stove in their kitchenette. The key would be to keep Janine guessing, as long as she wasn't sure of Angela's true motivations there would be time to make everything come out to her advantage.

 

Janine stopped where the paper was still open on the table, "Miss your shot, did you? Or were you cutting it a bit close?"

 

Angela shrugged, "Can't be too obvious. Moran knows my work, he'd have suspected if I missed entirely. This way I can spin a story of my skills being rusty. Could give you more time to cuddle closer to him. He goes both ways you know and you look quite like your brother."

 

"Might do, might do. He's not bad looking and I'll get ever so much farther with him than Sherl." Her dark eyes glinted at Angela, " _He_ was keeping himself ever so pure for his doctor. The only time I got farther than a friendly arm around the shoulder was the day that John was there at Baker Street. I thought I would choke at the expression on Johnny’s face when I walked out the bedroom. I should have had a camera! And I thought he was going to throw up when Sherlock kissed me at the door."

 

"And I need to know all this why?" Angela asked in a uninterested tone as she covered the bowl with a clean towel and started to wash up the utensils she had used.

 

"Because you should understand that Dr Watson was never yours,  _Mary_. " The vowel of the name was exaggerated by Janine's lilting accent. "He was just on loan while Sherlock was out of town and as long as Johnny couldn't face that he was in love with a bloke. You might have kept him a bit longer if you hadn't put a bullet in his man's chest but the ending," Janine smirked at her, "was inevitable. Even at your reception John looked at Sherl like the sun rose and set in eyes. Everyone could see it, they just didn't say it. I got ever so confused as to who was really getting married in parts."

 

"Thanks for reminding me." Angela said dryly, her mouth twisted with how Sherlock had stole attention from her even on a day that should have been her ultimate triumph. Calling him a drama queen hardly covered it.

 

"Someone has to," Janine took a glass from the cabinet and filled it at the sink, her shoulder bumping Angela's deliberately. "It would be such a bother for Mrs H to ask me to take you out of the picture. Covering it up from Sebby wouldn't be hard; he already knows I don't exactly like you. I'd just have to spin him the sad, sad tale of sister getting revenge against the sniper who turned against her brother. You never know, that might have been the last straw for poor Jim. Could make him blow his brains out, a betrayal like that."

 

Angela narrowed her eyes at the girl, "You couldn't stomach it. You’d never get blood on your hands." 

 

Janine shrugged, the smile on her face knife edged, "I wouldn't have to, sweetie, I'm sure with that story Seb would be ever so willing to do it for me. A lover revenging himself on the one who drove his beloved to suicide, right out of a fairy tale that is."

 

"Didn't know you were in for that sort of thing." Angela said.

 

"Maybe not, but Sebastian would be ever so reminded of Jim, and it would make my position practically unassailable." Janine mock toasted her and turned away, "Keep that in mind won't you, Mary."

 

All Angela could do was grind her teeth a bit as she watched the other woman walk away. She'd have to think of a way to take that girl down first before she could tackle the much more satisfying plan to revenge herself against her ex-husband and his lover. It was time to reorder her priorities.

  
**********

 

Across town Harry Watson looked through the clear glass wall of the trauma unit that her brother lay in and contemplated the man who sat at the bedside sunk into a profound silence. The snipers bullet had not hit John's spine as they had all feared but it had punctured a lung. The surgery to repair the damage had gone well and a chest tube inserted to allow the lung to re expand. They had started to relax a bit then somehow a case of pneumonia had developed so swiftly that by the morning they'd had to put her brother on a ventilator and sedate him so he wouldn't fight against the help he needed to breathe. 

 

That had been bad enough but she had been tempted to slap the doctor who warned her and Sherlock that John needed peace and quiet to heal. Holmes had not spoken a word since and his friend, Greg Lestrade looked more worried as the day went on. "That's not like him, is it?' she asked the silver haired man.

 

He shook his head slightly, "I used to pray I could shut him up for a minute or two. Beware of what you wish for I guess." he sighed.

 

Harry pressed her hand against her head, wishing it would help the headache that pounded in her temples. She wanted a drink with an intensity that shook her bones but the sight of her brother, pale and helpless in bed, and the only slightly less heart wrenching sight of Sherlock Holmes staring at him as if to will him better kept her still. "I would have thought that one would be on the trail of whoever shot Johnny." she said in a musing tone.

 

"Maybe a couple years ago." Greg Lestrade answered her, "Not now though, not with John like he is." He frowned worriedly, "You'd understand better if you'd been at the wedding."

 

"I wasn't going to watch while my brother backed himself further into the closet by marrying a woman he'd known less than a year." Harry flared up, anger flowing through her bones like fire.

 

"That wasn't the part you should have been there for. You should have heard that one's best man speech." he nodded at Holmes. "Sherlock agonized over that thing, I know, texted me at all hours of the day and night about it but wouldn't let me see a word. Then it turned out to be practically a love letter. John was in tears and he wasn't the only one."

 

"Johnny?' Harry exclaimed softly, it took a lot to break through her brother's reserve like that.

 

"Hell, I had to wipe my face. So obvious that Sherlock loved him and was just going to stand aside to let John have what he wanted. It was plain to everyone that day, except maybe John himself, and I'm not so sure about that anymore." Lestrade looked down, his lips stretched into a grimace, "The most important thing Sherlock said that day was that John 'kept him right'. That's what you are seeing in there, John's out of it and Sherlock is not right; like clouds and rain that is."

 

"I knew John loved him." Harry said, "It was obvious as soon as he started to write that blog of his; I told him so often enough." 

 

"I had wondered," Lestrade looked at her with a cops knowing gaze, "I mean why would he have so much trouble with falling for a guy with a sister like you?"

 

"Hmph," Harry snorted, "easy enough. I was the black sheep of the family and he always wanted to be the good boy. Our father is a right controlling bastard so it didn't surprise me that if John found a more 'normal' way to live he would snatch at it. I doubt he actually thought of it like that but it would have made our father so proud. Neither of us have seen or spoken to that bastard for years but John still was following his rules."

 

"Not now I guess." the cop said, shaking his head sadly, "John finally lets himself have the person he's wanted for years and this happens."

 

"One of their enemies I suppose."

 

"Might be. All I know is it's above my paygrade. I don't really mind all that much, someone is going to need to be here to pick up the pieces if John doesn't recover. I at least have a shot at stopping Sherlock before he can reach a dealer."

 

"Drugs?" she'd never suspected.

 

"Oh yeah. Had a relapse after John's wedding. I know that if damn little else about all the shit that went down last year." Lestrade rubbed the back of his neck, "And that's not even the least of my worries. I confiscated John's gun, which for the record I'm not supposed to know about, but I've no idea if Sherlock has others stashed around town or knows where to get one."

 

"He'd kill himself?"

 

"If John doesn't make it, yeah, I'd say it's a distinct possibility." Lestrade said with a calm certainty that made her shiver. She had loved her wife Clara before the split but she could never think of just ending her life over her. Harry wasn't sure if she could have handled that kind of intense devotion directed towards her; she probably would have run from it faster than her brother had.

 

But, if John had it now and wanted it....well, she had to do something. Over the past few weeks John had started to share things with her; the primary thing being his regret in not defending her so long ago. She’d actually been a bit delighted when he had asked her to help him with the internet campaign to protect his lover from the government. Coordinating the campaign had given her a deeper satisfaction than she'd felt in years, and this was far more important. John couldn't help Sherlock right now but she had an idea that might work. 

 

Harry dug into her purse and brought out a pen and a notebook of paper; it wasn't as convenient as a digital tablet but it was a damn sight more secure. Then she quietly walked into the room where he brother's chest heaved with an artificial regularity. Sherlock nodded in her direction but didn't say a word. That's okay she didn't need him too; she just placed the notebook into one of his hands and the pen into another. "Write it down." she said, softly but firmly, "everything you want to say to him. Write it down here." Sherlock frowned in confused annoyance so she expanded on her instructions. "The whole world knows how he feels about you because of how he wrote his blog. It's your turn now."

 

Sherlock lips tightened, "He won't know ever know." he breathed, unwilling or unable to speak any louder.  


 

"He fucking well will know cause I'm going to put it into his hands as soon as he's well enough to sit up. And it's better than just sitting on your ass staring at him!" she'd said all she could so she immediately turned around, walked confidently out of the unit and found herself a deserted waiting room she could fall apart in with privacy. 

 

She'd done what she could for the person her valued above all others. She could only pray to the Mother of all things that it would be enough. 


	2. Sherlock's letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Harry gets back to her brother's room she finds Sherlock passed out over a table and this under his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock doesn't realize it but pneumonia can develop this fast. I based John's situation somewhat on some events I was witness to a few years ago.

 

_ John, _

 

_ Your sister put this pad into my hands and told me to write everything I wanted to say to you. I have to say that she's as much a ridiculous romantic as you are. In fact you are remarkably alike in some ways. I truly thought she was going to slap one of your doctors when they told us a case of pneumonia had developed and that they would have to sedate you completely so that the ventilator could take over breathing for you. _

 

_ I don't think I've ever hated a machine more. I should love it; it's keeping you alive, giving me some hope that you will wake up, but every time I look at it I only feel hate for the violent way it blows air into you. And shame because I cannot believe that a bacterial infection could have developed overnight that is so disabling. There must have been something wrong in your lungs already, waiting for this chance and I didn't see it. I've been so busy the last few weeks, showing off for you and trying hard to pretend I never went away. And I see now you were concentrating so much on me; on keeping me right, that you must have ignored any symptoms of this. And I helped you ignore it by attempting to replicate a time that is over. _

 

_ We've both been trying so hard to go back to before I left you in a fashion I find hideous to think of now. My only excuse is that I didn't really know what loneliness meant until I was away. I had been alone for much of my life but until you exploded into it (you have never known how life changing our meeting was for me) because I had never had anything to contrast it to. My parents are good people but they never took the time to understand and you know how things stand with my brother. I can never tell if he cares or merely takes pleasure in controlling me. Those eighteen months were the first time I was sure that someone cared that I was well. Not just physically adequate and sober, not able to solve cases or problems that required my intellect, but that I was comfortable in my skin, or at the very least I was not actively seeking to destroy myself.  _

 

_ I said in that *terrible* best man speech that you had saved me so many times and in so many ways. I know you were confused by it and I didn't seek to burden you with knowledge you didn't seem to want at the time. But you have, you know, saved me. It started that first night with the cabbie but it didn't end when I had to go away.  _

 

_ In a sense I took you with me then. I constructed a version of you in my Mind Palace. Please don't be angry; it wasn't at first and it didn't make it in any way easier for me to be away from you. I just had to keep reminding myself as I slipped through countries and identities, targeting person after person, that there was a reason I was doing it all. You were the best reason. Many times when I was wounded or captured I would let myself drift into the 221B I had made for myself and while others made those scars that pain you to look at (don't try to lie, I know it does) I don't remember because I was sitting on the couch watching telly with you. Or hovering over you as you typed up a case for your blog. Or ..... well I tried to imagine other things that I know now were so much lesser than how it feels when you touch me with a reverence I in no way deserve. _

 

_ I suppose that's why I bungled my return so badly. In my mind I had spent the two years I was gone with you but when I saw you at the restaurant that fantasy drifted away. I know I babbled a good deal that night and more reprehensible, I didn't see Mary for what she was. All I could really see was the anger in your eyes and how I would do anything, absolutely anything to get back to a moment when you would smile at me again. Or make a joke that would be terribly inappropriate and so perfect for us to laugh at together again. It was my only thought that night and it narrowed my focus dangerously. Again the fault was mine alone and I own it.  _

 

_ I shouldn't be writing this, all of this are things you probably know, I'm fairly certain you know them and I'm making a terrible hash at telling you. What I'm trying to say is that if someone has always been alone they can't understand that they are lonely. So I never considered myself lonely until you became not only a part of my life but the very center of it. And when I had to leave it was so impossible to conceive of a life without you that I constructed an artificial replacement in my mind. But now I watch while a machine breathes for you and I realize that there can be no replacement ever for your loving protection and I have to do better at protecting you from your habit of only thinking about my welfare. There had to have been a cough or sneeze or something to signal this infection and I was too busy impressing you to see it. And you take such good care of me, protecting me even from my own mind, it is unbearable. Wake up and I will do better, I swear it to you. _

 

_ I feel like everything is suspended now, that I'm just existing until you can see me and make me real again. I can't seem to really feel my skin anymore unless you are touching it. I may have once scoffed at my body as just transport but that was before you made me completely real for the first time. When I think about it I honestly think it wasn't until I asked 'Afghanistan or Iraq' and you willingly to stood up to the honestly brutal treatment I give everyone at first meeting that made me a real person. I was Pinocchio and then you moved into 221B and I started to realize that I could be real, complete person and still do the Work because you would catch me when I slipped. You were not just my conductor of light, ever, you were the gravity well that would draw me back when I went too far. So without you awake I don't dare move or I feel like I'll just float away and no one will ever be able to find me. _

 

_ So you have to get better, you have to wake up, you have to let me have a go at caring for your gorgeous body for once. I want to do all sorts of things you'd probably laugh at; bring you tea, cook you a meal, wait on you hand and foot if you'll let me. You probably won't, you are the worst patient, but I'll want to. Surely Mycroft can keep the government off my back long enough; he knows I'm rubbish without you. I showed that plenty of times while I was away too. He even remarked on it once, more than once in fact, he used your safety as a goad on me as much as I did on myself. I didn't mind, it reminded me that you were real and not just a figment of my imagination.  _

 

_ You wake up and I'll probably drive you mad with my endless inquiries about how you feel. I know I will make a terrible bother of myself if you so much as sneeze from the dust. Please understand it's because I can only know that I'm real and really a human in correlation to your existence. As long as your hand can touch my arm, or you chide me when I go too far, or when you hold me as I fall apart in your arms I know that I'm more than Mycroft's tool, or Scotland Yard's calculating machine. I know that I'm a person with a heart that beats and even if that hurts some times I wouldn't change a thing. _

 

_ Please hurry back my Captain, _

 

_ Sherlock Holmes _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to have to take a bit of a break after this chapter. The cards have lead me to set up so many plans within plans that I'm getting confused. Fortunately I have an excellent co-conspirator to help lay out all the various plans, outcomes and consequnces. Then I'll see which way the cards incline me to go.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I turned Harry Watson a bit pagan. It felt logical somehow for a Harry who really wants to stop being a drunk.


End file.
